


I Didn't Think You Had It In You

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Black Romance, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Sollux Captor is getting impatient with his cocky new ensign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Didn't Think You Had It In You

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to [Aewin](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com) and [stunrunner](http://stunrunner.tumblr.com) for their invaluable editing! Any mistakes that remain are mine. :)

When you show up in Engineering midday, when most of the ship’s working on a skeleton crew, you find Ensign Dirk Strider at his work station alone. Everyone else is sleeping or enjoying their precious little rec time, as you had hoped. With the fury coursing through you as you stride in, you don’t really want any of your other inferiors caught in the crossfire.

“Ensign, get over here,” you bark, adding, “Now!” when his first response is merely to glance at you. You should’ve been harder with him from the start; it’s been three months since he set foot on the space station and he’s made himself right at home. He certainly didn’t waste any time before subtly questioning your orders and carefully following the rule of your orders without following the spirit.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” His tone’s neutral, but you catch a subtle twist of his lips, and it makes his whole demeanor seem mocking.

“I told you not to fucking update the climate controls until you had my explicit permission!”

“With all due respect, you would’ve delayed it and obsessed over picking out nonexistent bugs,” he replies. “To best do my sworn duty, I wasn’t gonna risk that, sir.”

“Your duty is to this ship and to me! I’m your superior, so you can fucking start doing your duty by listening to me. I’m writing you up for insubordination.”

You could do a lot more than write him up; as an Alternian officer, you’re authorized, if not explicitly encouraged, to use a number of corporeal punishments. Unfortunately, the idea of beating Strider bloody or branding him gets you excited in a way that’s just a little bit too pitch for it to be appropriate.

“You won’t. If you wanted to actually teach me a lesson, I know you’d be authorized to do a couple of far more hands-on punishments. But instead you’re takin’ the pacifist route, even though the empire encourages otherwise. I wonder why that is.” There’s that smirk, creeping onto his lips. That look tells you that he _knows_ there’s more going on than appropriate, platonic hate, and you’re fucking done.

You snap. Not your sanity but your self-control. No, your psionics really are under your control, so you can’t blame it on that. Fuck, fine, you just really wanted to send that cocky asshole flying across the room and this time you finally had a good enough reason to do so. Strider slams into the door of the cleaning supplies closet and tumbles inside. Buggy cleaning droid must’ve left it ajar; great, there’s another problem to deal with after this whole mess.

Still raging, you stalk over. You’re not done with him yet, though the rational part of your brain doesn’t really know what you plan to do next. When you enter, he’s slowly pulling himself to his feet. His hair is mussed, you note with schadenfreude, and you bet he’s got a few bruises, but no serious injuries. That’s probably good, since you don’t want him actually out of commission, but you can’t help but be a little disappointed.

“Alright, you earned yourself a single, lonely point for surprising me,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair, expression flickering with displeasure as he can feel how his usually stupid coiffure looks even stupider ruined. “I didn’t think you had it in you. I wonder what else you have in there.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of shitty come on?” Your mouth moves faster than your brain, because you absolutely shouldn’t be broaching this topic. You kick yourself for it, but it’s out there, and you can’t take it back.

“Maybe we should have a little privacy for this conversation, don’t you think?” He quirks an eyebrow and you seethe even as you slam the door with your psionics. You hate it when he’s right, and he’s right way too fucking often. Why are you even letting yourself get into this situation? With the door closed, the light in the closet is comparatively dim, but you still see as he starts to step forward. Fuck no.

A single thought blasts him with psychic energy again, throwing him a few paces back, right up against the wall.

“I hate it when you waste my time, and that’s all you ever do,” you say. Despite having just pushed him back, you find yourself drawn back in towards him. This is exactly why you didn’t want to get physical with him even in the platonically violent sense; half of you doesn’t want it to just stay platonic violence. “If you fucking want to say something, then say it.”

“You seem to be getting at something, Lieutenant. Why don’t _you_ elaborate?”

“No, fuck, this is bullshit.” It is bullshit; this is a terrible idea. There’s a palpable electricity in the air from how he shifts in towards you, your blood pusher thumping in your chest as you feel his gaze fixed on you from behind those absolutely-not-regulation shades. You're about to break half the rules in the book and you don’t know if you’re mad at him or mad at you or mad that you didn’t do this the first day he stepped on board.

He's trying to make you make the first move; it's so obvious. He's not just arrogant; he’s a coward. You reach in and rip his shades off his face, throwing them to the floor. There’s one more point for you, as he blinks with orange-irised eyes and his lips part in surprise, visibly disarmed. Unfortunately it doesn’t take more than a moment for him to tighten up again into smug satisfaction. 

Strider leans in closer and you do too, noting the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the delicate pale lashes of his eyes, the way his pupils are blown wide open. Annoyance stings you when he tilts his head down a fraction and you remember that he’s slightly taller than you. And apparently you care, which is stupid. It’s only by a few centimeters, but you're not used to being the shorter one around humans.

Though you two are closer than you’ve ever been, and his tongue is flickering across his thin lips hungrily, he refuses to complete the moment. Desire is raging within you and your genitals are feeling warm with want, but the thought of so easily giving him what he’s looking for makes you downright livid. He wants a kiss, huh? Too fucking bad. If he won't initiate it, you'll take what _you_ want. 

You don’t pull back but you grab for his neck, your fingertips grasping the small zipper at the top of his jumpsuit. You yank it down to the follow of his throat and, without thinking, dive in and press your lips to the smooth skin of his neck.

“You should know that I was originally looking for you to elaborate verbally, but I concede this method’s more fun,” he comments as you grab his shoulders. You don’t need it to pin him in place, but feeling his flesh under your fingers is satisfying in a way a psionic grip isn’t. “That said, I thought you erred on the side of caution, yet here you are, opening yourself up to a sexual harassment complaint,” Of course, he makes absolutely no move to stop you. He just wants to get to you, which he does, which you hate.

Restraining the worst of your hatelust, you nip at his throat as he continues.

“Is that, ah, what you want, Lieutenant Captor?” He tries to hide it, but that was definitely a waver in his voice. Since you met him, you’ve never heard him waver. It sends a jolt of satisfaction through him, that you can get to him too.

You don’t nip again; this time, you _bite._

The noise that escapes his throat is nothing short of masochistic, pained but unabashedly aroused. Sadly, he gathers his composure and silences himself again lightning fast. His muscles stiffen under your grasp. Your bulges, usually very obedient since you finished puberty a couple of sweeps ago, start to writhe in your pants. But nothing about this is obedient - your caliginous feelings are against your will, Dirk disobeyed your orders, and you sure as fuck are violating protocol with this whole encounter. It’s overwhelming, and the only thing that hits you harder than your self-loathing for doing all this shit you know you’re going to regret later is your uncontrollable yearning for more.

You bite again, but only briefly, lifting your mouth to hover against his ear, breathing heavily enough that you can hear each exhale. You release his shoulders only to grab his hair and twist, taking delight in the feel of further messing up his obscenely overgelled style.

“Is there somethin’ I can help you with, sir?” He’s so sarcastic it’s illegal on some planets. You’re so done with it.

“Fuck, you really want to ask that?” you hiss. “Yeah, you can help by sucking my bulges.”

“That’s more like it,” he exhales, gripping your hips and slipping down. Finally, he’s not dicking around. Or he will be, momentarily, but in the right way. You reach for your zipper with your free hand as you yank at his hair again. The breathy, aroused sound he makes is nothing short of music to your ears. Strider, finally obeying orders for once, desperate to please now that you’ve really shown him who’s boss. Apparently, he just needed some rougher treatment. Fucking masochist freak.

As you get the zipper to near your crotch, you realize how fucking annoying it’s going to be to try to wear this thing halfway. You could keep it mostly on, but then he couldn’t get to your nooks. Getting off from bulge stimulation alone is doable but only half as satisfying. With a muttered curse of frustration, you pull the jumpsuit down past your hips and peel yourself out of the sleeves.

When he moves his head in, it occurs to you how totally and utterly fucked you are if anyone walks in on this, if anyone overhears you, if anyone ever finds out this happened. The only consolation you have is that Strider would be in almost as much trouble as you, and you know he’d never put his career at risk, so at least you don’t have to worry about him telling anyone. If you two were in the Terran Military, the fault would lie solely with you, the commanding officer, but that isn't how things work here. When rules are broken, no one gets off the hook. The concept of a “victim” is so quaintly human.

The risk only pumps you with a fresh surge of adrenaline, perfectly synced with Dirk’s tongue meeting your bulges. You’ve never had a human go down on you, and it’s so wet, warm soft, and _teasing_. No, the last quality isn’t about his humanity, it’s about him. Fucking Strider. Your blood's on fire and he's lazily tracing the ridges and veins like you’re unfamiliar geography. He licks from base up, first following one bulge to its tip, then back to their split to explore the other. His calculated precision, fuck, it really makes you feel like he's mapping you, measuring you. It’s infuriating and only heightens your need, not slakes it.

"More," you demand, and to his credit, he obeys - but not in the way you meant it. He places a hand on the side of your ass, right below your hipbone, and reaches in with the other to separate the folds behind your bulges.

"Yes, you’re so incredibly clever," you snap, rolling your eyes so hard it hurts. Even the lightest touch of his fingers parting you makes your nooks throb, and you blush yellow at your idiotically strong desire.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says slowly between long, full licks. You shudder despite yourself as his fingers tease your entrances.

You bite your lip when he presses into you, one finger into each nook. He’s clearly hooked up with trolls before - or else studied troll anatomy extensively - since he finds your shame globes with no trouble, and focuses his motions on them. Fuck, he’s got skills, but no art; he either teases or he’s damn efficient. You would admire that approach, if you didn’t despise that it’s being used on _you_. Because it feels good, but not good _enough_ , and it just leaves you desperate to come. He continues licking your bulges, which would only string you along further if he wasn’t so damn spot on with his internal ministrations. You might actually get off soon if he keeps this up.

There’s a stack of pails in the corner and you could easily whisk one over here. You might accidentally hit Dirk in the head with it, given your current distractions, but fuck, he’d have it coming. The idea of using a cleaning receptacle instead of a regulation bucket for your ejaculate is gross on an irrational level, but eliminating the evidence would be so easy that way. You can’t fill a bucket for drone collection with a human anyway, and there’s a drain in here for the mopbots to use.

Strider swirls his tongue around the slit in one of your bulges, and you make a snap decision.

"Open your mouth." It comes out almost as a pant, articulation more difficult than it should be. The effect he has on you is intoxicating, and you despise yourself for that.

When he doesn't respond fast enough for your liking, you twist your hand in his hair ruthlessly.

"For once in your pathetic excuse for a career, _do what I fucking tell you._ "

His jaw falls slack and you don't waste a moment to thrust in with your bulges. His hands keep working with an unshakable precision you envy as your bulges coil around each other in the overwhelming feeling of his mouth. You know you're about to lose it.

You groan as he rubs your shame globes and closes his lips around you. There goes whatever ability for actual communication you might have still had. When his tongue starts to move, your orgasm hits you like a battleship. You shake as it bursts through you, maintaining an iron grip on Strider’s hair that elicits a pained but needy noise from him. Your bulges pulse as they spill your genetic material into his mouth, making him nearly choke, a detail which you note with delight. Your nooks undulate around his fingers and he doesn't slow down until you're finished.

You pull your suit back on as he gets to his feet and rinses his hands off quickly in the faucet for mopbots. Guilt and paranoia return, knowing the consequences this could have, but the euphoric feeling still waning in your body makes you almost feel like it was worth it.

Before you turn to leave, Dirk grabs your waist with an arm, pulling you in close. With your body flush against his, you can feel his erection through your clothes. You’ll have to play with that next time. If there is a next time. Fuck, why do you want a next time when you know what a terrible idea _this_ time was?

He kisses you, hungry and desperate, like _this_ is what he’s been waiting for. How stupid. You tolerate it because of some lingering bit of sentimentality, and as he deepens the kiss, you taste yourself on his lips. Fuck, well, practically speaking, you need to eliminate any possible evidence. You keep the kiss up for nearly half a minute, making sure to lick away every stray drop of your fluid before pulling back.

“OK,” you say, prying his arm off your waist, “now get out.”

“What, you can’t spare another few minutes?” He tries to sneak in another kiss. You’re not entertained.

“No, I've got codes to fix and reports to deliver, so get the fuck back to work, Strider!” You reach out and give his hair a quick, vicious twist to emphasize your point. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

**Author's Note:**

> Double-nooked Sollux is a headcanon borrowed from [Aewin's lovely work.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1029711)


End file.
